


Devil's Bond

by DoreyG



Category: Demonata Series - Darren Shan
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Character Study, Competency, Demons, Developing Friendships, Gen, GenEx 2016, Magic, Missing Scene, Pre-Lord Loss, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has lasted through a human year of relative harmony, of dull boredom, and while he could usually spend hours happily debating the metaphysical concept of self this is not quite the time for such a thing. Now is the time for action, for goal setting, for finding the perfect human and stroking their mind until it splinters ever so prettily in his grasp.</p><p>Now is the time to check up on a certain Grady, far too long neglected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's Bond

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cadmean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadmean/gifts).



> This is just a quick note to say that I'm SO glad that we matched on basically my favourite rare fandom ever, and am utterly delighted that somebody else has read these and reacted in a fannish way! You have excellent taste, dear recip.

**1 Year Since**

It has been one year, at least measured in human time which is really the only _proper_ way to do so, since Artery was returned to him and the thief was gloriously revealed and Kernel Fleck left with such sweet sorrow in his heart...

And he’s bored.

It’s no surprise, really. He may have a little more patience than his minions, such darling creatures who seem only capable of waiting a minute at most before tearing something new apart, but he has never claimed to have the staying power of his more powerful contemporaries. He can manage centuries, upon occasion, but little longer than that. Millennia are beyond him. And as for millions of years, billions of years?

Well, he has not quite reached the mark of his first million yet. But he has the sneaking suspicion that if millennia are beyond him, he might well have to work up to that. He supposes it will be a skill that comes with time, if he’s lucky enough to survive that long.

His patience levels currently are probably closer to that of a human, than any demon known to him. He feels a perverse kind of pleasure at that, though he keeps it well hidden for fear of what would inevitably result if any other demon discovered him sympathising with something so low. Feels a perverse kind of _joy_ at being able to last through a game of chess, a month of torture, a year of relative harmony... But no longer.

Sometimes he wonders what it would’ve been like to actually be born a human. To be on the other side of that uncrossable veil. To experience those delicious emotions – the pain, the fear, the sheer misery – so intensely...

But he pushes that aside for now.

Because he has lasted through a human year of relative harmony, of dull boredom, and while he could usually spend hours happily debating the metaphysical concept of self this is not quite the time for such a thing. Now is the time for action, for goal setting, for finding the perfect human and stroking their mind until it splinters ever so prettily in his grasp.

Now is the time to check up on a certain Grady, far too long neglected.

 

\--

 

Dervish Grady returned to Earth safe and well, but with roughly three missing years to deal with. Not quite as much of a burden as that placed upon poor Kernel’s head, true, but still enough of one to create at least a few consequences . Frantic family connections worried about his whereabouts, suspicious police desperate for the slightest clue as to where he’d went, the entire world just slightly shifted around him in a way bound to be unsettling...

 _Delicious_.

One of the more concrete consequences, beyond the wonderful malaise of uncertainty that lingered like a fine taste upon the tongue, was the loss of the man’s home. It hadn't been much, not when he’d looked into it as a palette cleanser after his usual menu of torturous pain, but it had still been his own. A little flat just off the main city, apparently filled with knick-knacks and trinkets and all the other little things that humans attached such fascinating meaning to. A small place, a calm place, a loved place.

...Gone.

Now Dervish lives in a shared house, and not a particularly pleasant one at that. His loved possessions are either gone, or so boxed up as to be functionality so. His entire home has receded to a small bedroom, a poky little window and a single bed shoved roughly into the centre of the room like that’ll stop anything from dropping down onto it or crawling up its lumpy sides.

Amused by the imagery, he drifts across the sock littered floor to it now and debates what he should do. It was easy enough to get here, one of Dervish’s new housemates fancied himself a sorcerer and quickly paid the price, and now a whole wealth of opportunity is spread out before him. He could lift himself up and drop down like a far more horrifying spider, he could climb up the lumpy and saggy sides like a caterpillar with _teeth_ , he could extend one long hand and graze ever so sweetly over his cheek like a moth about to land and take a bite...

Dervish stirs in his sleep, crammed into the centre of his narrow bed, and lets out a soft groan. And it’s that, combined with his earlier thoughts on the virtues of practicing patience, that makes his decision for him. He folds his limbs into his core, and settles on the end of the bed. The best nightmares are the ones that wait for you, after all, spider webs lingering to the corner of your vision and hiding monsters in their depths.

Luckily, this monster doesn’t have to wait for long.

A minute passes, and Dervish gives another groan and turns on his side. Five minutes pass, and he snuffles into his slightly damp looking pillow. At ten minutes he coughs, at fifteen he clears his throat in the aftermath. Twenty produces a return to lying on his back, twenty five a hard twitch of his eyelids like he’s surfacing from less than pleasant dreams. And at thirty-

To his slight surprise the man bolts straight upwards, stares at him with wide-open eyes like he’s just awoken from one nightmare straight into another.

“Dervish Grady,” he purrs, and majestically unfurls his upper two arms. Well aware of the effect they usually have, the growing horror in those that stand before him as they desperately try to guess what’s coming next, “it has been far too long since our last meeting. Tell me, how has your life progressed in the year since we parted?”

Dervish blinks at him, slow and slightly dazed, and he braces himself for the inevitable rush of feeling that is soon to arrive. The bafflement, the terror, the two of them mixed together in a cocktail so delicious...

“Great,” Dervish grumbles, and swings his legs out of the bed in a dismissal so obvious that if he was a human - as he so desperately longs to be sometimes – he might well swoon dead away from it, “I’m starting to hallucinate while hungover now. Knew I shouldn’t have gone drinking with Shark, it’s not worth my brain as _well_ as my liver.”

...Well. How truly, and deeply, unexpected.

“Excuse me?” He asks politely, and watches – he suspects in a mild state of shock – as Dervish digs around on the floor to find a ratty pair of jeans to pull on, “forgive me if I am asking a truly obvious and humiliating question...”

“Great,” Dervish grumbles, peering briefly at a pile of socks before obviously deciding to give them up as a bad go, “it talks too.”

“...But why do you consider me, a terrifying demon master who has already ruined the lives of several of your friends and many of your family, a mere hallucination?” He hovers up in the air a little, turns just slightly so he can keep an eye upon Dervish as he slouches across the room, “is it the lack of arms? Would extending more, perhaps, convince you of the horrifying reality of this situation?”

“Look,” Dervish says grumpily, finally turning to fix him with an impressively beady eye, “have you set any demon hordes on me in the past few seconds?”

“...I thought I had the monopoly on obvious questions,” he frowns, shakes his head a little as Dervish continues to peer at him with a frown that is almost becoming hilarious in its sleepy intensity, “no, I have not and will not.”

“Have you threatened to rip out my internal organs, and turn them into a dancing mariachi band in the past half a minute?” Dervish only continues, so stubborn that even an old fool like Beranabus would be proud. Keeps going even as he starts to smile, shakes his head in growing amusement, “and have you asked me to play a game of chess since you arrived?”

“Dervish...”

“No, no and no!” Dervish proclaims over him, haughty in the manner that only a sleepy person can be, and turns on his heel. The lower leg of his jeans has an old pizza grease stain on it, his spikes jiggle hilariously in time with the muscles in his back, “thus you are definitely a hallucination, and I definitely need some coffee before I can deal with you.”

And so the man leaves him all alone in his bedroom, hovering just above his bed with a delightfully amused smile spreading across his face.

Dervish Grady, he is starting to think, is a human who will require a little more attention.

**5 Years Since**

Five years pass, since the day he ruined dear Kernel Fleck’s life and made Beranabus’ entire existence far more difficult as a delightful side effect, and he thinks on Dervish Grady through all of them. The man is not the most fascinating Grady he has ever met, not by a long stretch with the memories of Bartholomew Garadex still so amusingly fresh in his mind, but... He is most certainly something.

He’s brave, even in the face of insurmountable odds that would cause most to sag gibbering to the floor in a delicious ecstasy of overwhelmed terror. He’s smart, smart enough to go toe to toe with a demon master multiple times and escape with only a lingering sense of amusement as his legacy. He’s witty, able to quip and quibble and hold attention even with the rest of the universe crying out for the slightest touch of corruption. He’s all of those things and more, and considering that he really can’t be blamed for being absolutely fascinated.

...Well, in his eyes. He’s still not going to tell the other demon masters about his new area of interest, still has enough self preservation to avoid that particular method of suicide.

“I’m going to visit him,” he declares one day, in the privacy of his own realm instead. He’s not stupid enough to believe that it could ever stand against a more powerful demon master if they decided to take interest, but they have not so far and so he remains as safe as he can be. Cradled inside a world of webs, a magnificent castle and a beautifully intimidating throne, “I shall see if he is capable of resisting me again, and shall plan my new obsession accordingly.”

The only witness to his proclamation is darling Vein. Artery is down in the depths of the castle, perhaps still mourning his lost attempt at humanity. Nadia – or Juni, as she has started to carefully experiment with – is on the outskirts of his lands, staring up at a dark sky and wishing it was blue. His other minions are scattered to various winds, trying to scrape close to such depths but never quite succeeding.

Vein is one of his older minions, if not his very oldest. He has known her since she was a pup, since he himself was a barely formed lump of a master trying to pull himself up in the universe. She’s loyal and passionate about her work, if sometimes possessed of a worrying tendency to think that she knows better than him. She’s giving him a look along those terribly concerning lines now, eyes flat and doubtful above the long and terrifying stretch of her reptilian snout.

“I won’t be long,” he attempts to sound reassuring, uses the soft touch as opposed to immediately tightening his grip and showing his hand. He respects Vein, it would be a pity to have to wipe her out, “it won’t distract me at all from business here, you well know my work ethic.”

Vein only continues to stare at him, not quite seeming to appreciate his kindness. But, then, most demons never do. They are creatures of blood and fury, always more prepared for biting than talking. Perhaps that’s why he’s started to appreciate humans more and more as of late. He may be a creature of misery himself, but at least he can understand that the misery is always sweeter when preceded by the slightest touch of joy.

“Do not question me,” he says flatly, and rises up from his throne in a majestic stretch. He knows the full glory of his horror, it is capable of reducing even demons to shuddering fear, “I know what I am doing, far better than you ever will. I shall visit him, and I shall return shortly, and I shall resume my own business without the slightest delay. It has happened before.”

Vein huffs a little to herself. But, to his relief, doesn’t dare to question him more obviously. Only sits to attention, as he drifts past her. Even wags her tail slightly, as if still pleased to be in his presence even after all that has passed between them and will inevitably pass between them in the future.

“Good girl,” he smiles a little, deciding to set that matter aside just for now. Pats her on her leathery head, as he goes, “do try and keep my throne warm for me while I’m gone.”

 

\--

 

Dervish is less pleased to be in his presence.

“What the hell?” The man downright yells, storming back and forth before him in a way that is obviously meant to be a ferocious expression of rage but that actually ends up more mildly amusing than anything else, “what the _hell_? I thought I locked the door before I went out!”

Dervish has moved up in the world. Gone is the messy bedroom, the tiny four walls enclosing a seeming multitude of dirty clothes. He lives in an actual house now, a modest little brick affair in suburbia that seems utterly unsuited to a man of his prodigious talents – not to mention his prodigious hair – but is rather pleasant nonetheless.

“A demon master appears in your abode, sits down on one of your rather lumpy chairs, and the only thing you can think of to comment on is a light spot of breaking and entering?” He asks with not a little amusement, admiring the slightly messy wallpaper carelessly stuck to the far wall, “my, Dervish, I do hope your priorities get themselves into some vague sort of order someday soon. It might well be dangerous for you if they don’t.”

“I was going to comment on the other things!” Dervish blusters, and then seems to actually grasp some of the severity of the situation. Comes to a slow halt, turns slowly to stare at him with such amusingly narrowed eyes, “soon, I was going to comment on the other things _soon_. How did you get here?”

“Through the door,” he answers pertly, is delighted by the way Dervish’s eyes narrow even further at the entirely obvious answer, “you did shut it correctly, but even then your locks simply aren’t that good. I would look into that, if I were you.”

“I _meant_ -“

“Your next door neighbour is a budding Satanist,” he says cheerfully, having had his fill of hilarious sadism for at least a minute, “or, at least, _was_ a budding Satanist. I think the revelation that Satan actually has eight arms and a chest full of hissing snakes may well have put her off. I made my way out of her bedroom, through her living room and out of her house. From there, it was easy enough to pinpoint the last place I’d seen you.”

“The last-?” Dervish’s face blanches just briefly. He watches the amusing drain of colour with a slight smirk, the leap of fear that accompanies it like a fine pate upon his tongue, “you’ve been watching me.”

“With sporadic interest, yes.”

“Why-“ Dervish gulps for a moment, caught by the usual fear that afflicts humans at such moments. Soon rises above it, to his shocked delight, actually lifts his chin and fixes him with a brave stare, “why have you been watching me?”

“You fascinate me,” he answers honestly, both amused and reluctantly impressed by the amount of spine Dervish is currently showing.

“Because I’m a Grady?” Dervish guesses, frowns a little – still so deliciously wary – as he purses his lips together and shakes his head in amusement, “because I visited your realm, five years back? Because I played your damn game, for all the good it did, and somehow managed to get out of it alive?”

“The last one comes closest,” he purrs, somewhat charmed by the man’s attempts at logic. He is still young in demon terms, but by human terms he is ancient. He has achieved a level of experience that no average human being will ever reach, and it never fails to amuse him when they desperately try to pretend that they ever have a chance of being his equal, “but still does not capture the full and despairing story. I watch you because you fascinate me, Dervish. I watch you because you play act brave, even while feeling so very terrified underneath. I watch you because you throw yourself into danger again and again, but know very well that such action will one day kill you. I watch you because you are so much smarter than the average member of your species, yet so much stupider at the same time. I watch you... Because I can.”

Dervish stares at him flatly, gone pale again. His hand shakes just slightly, his shoulders are tense. The poor boy looks, and tastes, absolutely terrified... But still seems disinclined to move.

“And after our last meeting, once upon a dream...”

“Wait,” Until, amusingly, he blinks hard. The stoic fear shifting to a more active kind of horror, one that makes him want to laugh and laugh and _laugh_ , “that was actually _real_? Holy shit, I was actually _awake_?”

He allows himself a chuckle, at the very least. Leans back majestically in his seat, and allows the smorgasbord of horror to unfold, “and you wonder why I’m fascinated.”

**10 Years Since**

He's always been able to take human form, a relic of his bloodline that he rarely examines too closely. He doesn't do so very often, his sense of self-preservation remains far too strong for such a foolish action, but the knowledge that he could always remains just below the surface. Waiting there, like a shark waiting to surface in all its glory.

And sometimes, just sometimes, he allows that knowledge loose.

It's been a quiet few days, verging into the boring. Beranabus hasn't wandered by, no big portals have been opened lately and his fellow masters have remained content to leave him - the one they regard as perhaps the most pathetic of their vaunted numbers - alone. He leaves Vein sitting on his throne, still staring at him with those depressingly defiant eyes, and takes himself deeper into his palace. To where he keeps the more extravagant of his trophies from the human world, the beds and the wardrobes and the thick mirrors ready to reflect the truth at the slightest provocation.

There are a lot of human stories, about magic mirrors telling the truth. He has heard them from several throats, screamed and shouted and even whispered in a desperate attempt to remain alive. He keeps them in mind now, as he allows himself to transform in front of a mirror. Keeps in mind the truth, and what a tricksy creature it can be.

...There.

It is always strange, switching from his majestic demon form to his far more delicate human one. For a moment he is not quite sure how to balance on his legs, not quite sure how to remain upright with only two arms for balance. It is an effort not to just fall backwards, to land in an ungainly heap and allow the shame of failure to wash over him.

But he is Lord Loss, and Lord Loss _rarely_ allows himself to fail. He wobbles for a moment more, teeters on the edge... And then plants his feet, smiles wide and triumphant at himself in the mirror. His teeth are blunt, nowhere tear the tapering points of terror that they usually are. Odd, how that's usually the thing that surprises him the most.

Usually he would not do much in this form, would perhaps waltz around in the back of the castle for a few hours or try to play a game of chess with two clumsy human hands or even just sit and watch the spread of blue veins under pale skin with fascination, but today he has been watching the human world closely. Today he has a _plan_. He smiles at himself for a moment more, then reaches for the immoderately conservative clothes that he's laid out for himself. Today his role is to fit in, today his purpose is to _see_ somebody so seldom visited but so very amusing.

Dervish Grady.

Dervish _Grady_. And, even as his fingers fumble with the irritatingly tiny buttons that are apparently vital to the continued existence of humanity, he smirks at the thought of how the man will react to seeing that he can play human just as well as the rest of the Grady line can play beast.

He's so absorbed with the amusing thought, and the tiny buttons that he would _melt_ if they were anything close to sentient, that he doesn't realize that he's being watched until he turns around triumphantly to see tiny red eyes peering at him from the corner. For a moment his heart, his human heart with its valves and chambers as opposed to hissing snakes with teeth like needles, freezes-

" _Artery_."

...But it is only his minion, watching him from the doorway with a strangely wistful expression on his face.

Artery never really communicates about the time he spent masquerading as Kernel Fleck's sweetly innocent little brother, but the knowledge of how much he misses it remains heavy between them nonetheless. Beranabus said that the Demonata could feel nothing but rage and hunger - but, as usual with Beranabus, that was rather a simplification. Demons can feel pain, demons can feel fear, demons can feel loss with an intensity that would kill a human upon first touch. Demons can grow attached to any number of things.

And Artery, poor Artery, grew rather more attached to human life than he should've.

He hesitates for a second, reluctantly aware of what effect his sudden decision to take human form might have upon Artery, then forces aside the brief rush of almost-guilt. Crouches down as far as he can while still looking dignified, and gestures imperiously for his minion to approach him, "I thought I told you not to sneak up on me, you know how I react to being surprised. It is less than pleasant."

Artery hesitates for a second, but still has more obedience in him than his sister. He comes scurrying slowly over the floor, eyes slightly narrowed in something that would be accusation on a slightly braver creature.

"Don't give me that, you could've made a noise," he huffs, and deigns to give Artery a pat on his bare green shoulder as he finally comes to a halt before him. He's always preferred the approach of the carrot over that of the stick, as the humans would say, "should've made a noise, in fact, but I suppose little can be done about that now."

Artery gurgles a little. Looks pleased to have his forgiveness, even if that narrow suspicion is still so clear upon his face.

"And, in fact, I also suppose that it's rather _good_ you're here," he clears his throat, slightly unsettled by the intensity of Artery's gaze. Moves his hand away just before a woodlouse, Artery's latest experiment with style, drops down where it was lingering, "because I'm off out, and wanted to make sure that somebody knew I was gone. I shouldn't be long, a few hours at most, but I'll need you to keep an eye on your sister... Oh, and stop her and Juni from murdering each other."

Artery huffs a little, a noise as close as he gets to a chuckle, and nods to show that he understands the instructions... Still keeps staring at him, that odd suspicion lingering and lingering right up to the edge of becoming a problem.

"Yes, I am going to the human world," he swallows, tamps down on his apprehension over that. He cannot stand to lose both Artery and Vein, the siblings have been his closest supporters over the years and he has grown surprisingly attached to them, "no, I will not be going to where you last visited or even anywhere near it. I am going to visit an old friend, one who you may well be familiar with."

And Artery perks up, Artery arches up on the balls of his feet, Artery starts to gurgle in something suspiciously close to joy yet again-

"No, not your br- not Cornelius," he says hastily, and rises to his feet. Shoves that odd surge of almost-guilt down again, ignores the faint sting of it even easier than he breathes in this form, "and, considering that, no you _cannot_ come along with me. Remain here, Artery, and guard my realm. I shall send my regards to _Dervish_ , when I see him next."

He doesn't even let the sagging of Artery's shoulders bother him, as he leaves. Refuses to allow even the slightest thought of actual guilt in.

 

\--

 

He finds Dervish standing in front of the hair products aisle in a tiny pharmacy, staring with not a little sadness at a bottle of bright purple hair dye. It's amusing, just how put out he looks. Almost as amusing as the way his hair has shortened to a completely average cut upon his head, or the way he's replaced leather with denim like he doubts his ability to pull off the style of his youth.

...His youth. Not so long ago, but still clearly left. He must be in his early thirties now, at the very oldest, and while that _does_ count as young for most humans it most certainly doesn't for Dervish Grady. The cosmetic changes are only the tip of the iceberg. The man seems warier now, readier, more versed in the ways of a universe that would happily turn around and eat him whole if given even the slightest chance.

He's not quite sure how to feel about that, whether to go for mild regret over the youth lost or mild excitement over what is to come. Decides to set the question aside for now, and glides up behind Dervish only a little less smoothly than he would if he was in his natural form, "I'm not sure it'd suit you."

"You're probably right," Dervish chuckles mournfully, not turning all the way around to face the rude stranger who has forced himself into his midst, "it'd clash with most of my clothes."

"Not to mention your complexion," he purrs, and is somewhat amused when he gets another chuckle from Dervish. Another reason why he should perhaps use his human form more often, it seems to open up avenues to any number of conversations beyond terrified screaming, "and probably your lifestyle."

"My life-?" Dervish frowns for a second, but soon reverts to his wry grin. It always amazes him, how humans are capable of having far thicker and far thinner skins than the Demonata all at once, "yeah, you're right. It's not like I'm _respectable_ or anything, don't get me wrong, but... I suppose it would look a little odd going around pretending to be a mature and responsible adult with a full head of purple hair."

"A full head?" He asks innocently, tilting his own head a little to take in Dervish's reaction, "hm, seems like a little bit of an exaggeration if you don't mind me saying."

"...Well, maybe I do!" Dervish huffs, but is laughing again as he turns slowly around to face him. So sweet, so open, so delicious to crush when the time is right, "maybe I do mind a total stranger insulting me like we're old friends without even telling me his name."

"My apologies, how rude of me," he sighs, smiles sweetly - using all of his teeth - as Dervish comes to a slow halt with eyes narrowed in confusion, "I just tend to assume that everybody knows who I am, especially when they're from your family line. My name is Loss, L Loss. Though you may well know me better as-"

Dervish's eyes widen, and then narrow into a ferocious glare. Dervish's hands ball into fists, hard and deadly. Dervish takes an angry step forward, practically shaking with the force of his rage.

"-Oh, _my_."

...And Dervish gets them both kicked out of the pharmacy, the _rather_ lovely proprietor - unaware of his son's habit of watching rather too many horror movies, and getting rather too bored at the weekends - unwilling to listen to reason or rhyme or the excuse of having to tear apart a demon master with his bare hands.

"My apologies," he says sweetly on the pavement a few minutes later, straightening the lapels of his suit with fastidious care. He may not be wearing it for long, but that doesn't mean that he can't look the _part_ , "I _do_ hope that wasn't your main port of call for today, I'd feel _so_ terrible for exposing you as a thug when your only desire was to buy some cut price hair-dye and relive your glory days."

"Of course you would," Dervish mutters, so sarcastic that it's a miracle he doesn't flay his mouth with the acid of it, and jumps hastily to his feet. Dusts himself off, glaring at him all the while, "what are you _doing_ here?"

"Maybe I want to buy some hair-dye of my own," he smiles, still so innocent that he might well look into getting a halo to hang over his head.

"You have no-!" Dervish grinds to a halt, pinches his nose between two fingers. Such a uniquely human method of expressing frustration, it amuses him incredibly every single time he sees it, "ugh. You came to see me again, didn't you?"

"Can you blame me for wanting to see an old friend?" He asks, climbs to his own feet with a little more effort. It is terribly hard, being unable to levitate yourself up. He doesn't really understand how those humans, such terribly delicate and terribly unbalanced creatures, manage it, "after all, the last few times we interacted were so very pleasant for everybody involved."

Dervish removes his hand, gives him a glare that says more than words ever could, "I didn't know you could take human form."

"You don't know a lot of things about me, Dervish Grady."

"And you know what? I'm absolutely fine with that arrangement," Dervish snaps, purses his lips together like he's just realizing how much time he's already wasted. Glares at him for a second more, like that's going to accomplish anything, and turns on his heel in a sharp dismissal, "and will be absolutely fine with that arrangement for many years to come."

The poor boy, he thinks he can actually dismiss a demon master. Walking is still difficult, he suspects that it will never stop being difficult, but he still manages to catch up with the man in a few short strides. Even manages to keep pace with him, as he marches briskly down the street, "but what if I'm not?"

"Does that matter?" Dervish says through gritted teeth, seemingly unwilling to take another swing at him and risk getting kicked off the street itself.

"You're still young, Dervish, but one day you will learn that it is a very wise idea to keep abreast of what I consider 'fine'," he smiles a little, stares pointedly until Dervish drops his head in reluctant acknowledgement and then returns to a full-force beam, "now, where are we going?"

" _I_ am going..." Dervish starts haughtily, then sighs through his nose. Gives a resigned shake of his head, as he continues to march, "To see a man about a house. Or about a building that could be converted into a house, to be more accurate."

"Interesting," he says, soft and thoughtful, "you have enough money to buy such a thing now?"

"Yes," Dervish says shortly, obviously grits his teeth as he tilts his head and gives the man an ever so curious look, "I've ended up dipping into the Grady fortune, the one that your _actual_ friend Bartholomew built up."

"Dear old Bartholomew," he smiles, actually fond. He may have contributed to the man's untimely death, but that doesn't mean he wasn't deeply fond of him, "remind me, what is the human term for what you're doing again? As I recall it starts with a 'Free', ends with an 'ing'..."

"Shut-" Dervish starts sharply, trails to an angry halt when he arches one brow and makes sure to look overly amused at the man's daring, "it's not like you left me with many other options, is it?"

"Me?" He blinks innocently, as Dervish slowly comes to a halt in front of a glossy estate agents, "personally?"

"Fighting demons, while absolutely necessary, is not a job that pays very well," Dervish says sourly, peering intensely into the window in a desperate attempt to avoid his amusement, "I need to be able to survive, to live to fight another day. And, thanks to you and your kind, to do that I have to dip into the family funds once in a while."

"Interesting," he smiles, only the _slightest_ bit insincere. Steps up to Dervish's side, their arms brushing as he peers at the object of the man's obsession, "are you also going to blame me, and possibly even my kind, for your premature hair loss?"

"You-!"

He raises a finger, and Dervish grinds to an angry and mutinous halt yet again. Which would be a pity, really. Except for the way his eyes keep tracking to a certain old barn displayed in the window, a grand old structure that just happens - if his hazy recollections of that happy time are correct - to be about five minutes away from the place where he killed dear Bec and ruined dear Beranabus' life for years to come.

 _Interesting_. 

**15 Years Since**

He loves being a demon master.

Don't get him wrong. He may complain about it sometimes, more than sometimes when the days are long and the other masters laugh cruelly and not a single one of his minions can grasp the finer points of chess, but in the end it's who he is and what he loves. It's as fundamental to his being as the lights are to Kernel's, or as being an intractable fool is to Beranabus'.

He was born this way, he hopes to never die this way. He breathes magic, he eats despair, he secretly revels in the level of bloodsoaked violence all around him. He is a creature made up of webs and fear, a shadow under the bed and a darkness that lurks in the night.

He doesn't really know what he would actually be, as much as he dreams of being a waltzing gentleman with a chess board at his fingertips, if he was not this.

...Besides, how can you not love it for all the perks included?

Vein wanders far and wide away from him, seeking out hidden paths in both human and demon universes. It is her nose, she does so love searching with it. She grows more defiant by the day, worryingly so with that glitter in her eye and those occasional twitches of her paws, but she still often brings him back treats from her travels, The hearts of lesser demons, rubies as big as her paws from earth, even the occasional old toy of another master cast aside like it wasn't something incredibly precious.

Artery rarely strays from the side of his sister, and these days rarely strays from his world at all, but he is equally as charming. He is still often morose, often thoughtful about the human life he was forced to abandon so suddenly, but he appreciates the necessity of dancing for his supper far more than Vein ever did. He plays often, forms a new headdress every day, even laughs sometimes in a high and childlike cackle that strikes fear into all humans unlucky enough to hear it.

Juni, as she has taken to calling herself full time now, is not such a gatherer of gifts or a dancer of dances by nature. But, away from Beranabus, the blossoming of her true nature is more and more of a boon by the day. When she came to him she was frequently sullen, guarded and seemingly determined to flinch away from even the wonders that were offered to her. Now... She is still not a creature of joy, but she _is_ a creature of fascination. She's as sharp as a tack, wittier than even Dervish Grady himself, calmly practical in a way that takes even him aback sometimes.

And then there are all his other minions, not quite as wonderful as his prized three but still amusing enough to provide diversion. There's Femur, with her powerful leaps. There's Spine, with his wonderful habit of spitting acid. There's Gregor, seemingly determined to be the worst nightmare of both adult and child. And there are so many more, so many that sometimes even he has trouble keeping their names straight, who are so full of enthusiasm and viciousness and _blood_.

He sits on his throne in the centre of them all. The strips of his legs dangling over the edge, a cavorting carnival of joyous bloodletting screaming on all around him.

Surrounded by such things, he honestly does not quite understand how you can't be happy with such a life. Does not quite understand why Beranabus, so full of rage and barely hidden misery, fears this side so much. Does not quite understand why the humans _never_ seem to appreciate their majesty, no matter how often they are exposed to it.

...Humans, he supposes, are rather strange creatures.

But, as he is reminded of again and again, most definitely amusing in their own way. He feels a twitch towards the back of his mind, a whispering reminder that he tries to pay attention to as often as he can, and slowly rises from his throne. Inclines his head graciously towards his subjects, then departs like the king - the _lord_ \- he truly is.

For somebody, somebody who he never really expected, is calling to him. And who is he to resist the urge to spread his joyous majesty as far and wide as possible?

\--

When he drifts through the portal, curioser and curioser by the moment, Dervish is waiting for him in front of a thick forest that looks somehow familiar. The man smiles a little, when he sees him, and then takes a rather steady step back. Almost as if worshiping his presence, but not _quite_.

There's an odd feeling in the air, a crawling under his skin. The atmosphere, strangely enough is almost... Hopeful. It's unsettling in the extreme, a blow to his balance that must be much the same as how humans feel when they first see _him_.

He sets it aside, for now. Hovers up a little in the air, and looks around the forest as if disinterested, "Dervish."

"Loss."

" _Lord_ Loss," he corrects, only a little sharp, and stares Dervish down until he inevitably crumbles into an apology... Or not. He thought he cowed the man sufficiently last time, but now he remains as smiling and unphased as ever, "I must admit, Dervish, I did not expect you to summon me."

"The universe is full of surprises," Dervish says, so casual that it _must_ be some sort of front, "maybe you should grow used to them."

"Let alone," he continues, very deliberate in the face of such defiance, "so quickly. It seems like only a few days since our last meeting, our last glorious tangling of minds on the streets of that quaint little town. Have you missed me that intensely already?"

Dervish stares at him for a second, smile slipping only slightly. And oh, his poker face is _magnificent_ , "it's been five years, Loss. And, let me assure you, even with that extra time I haven't missed you a single bit."

"Ah, my mistake. Human lives move so quickly, it is hard to keep track sometimes," he purrs, decides to file away the improper use of his name for a later date. One where he's at leisure to teach Dervish, as amusing as he is, the proper value of respect, "let us get to business, why did you summon me here?"

Dervish raises his chin, undaunted despite the threat, "I wanted to test something."

"Such a vague statement, that could cover a multitude of possibilities," he chuckles a little, levitates a little higher in the air as Dervish keeps regarding him with that faint smile, "do you wish to test your propensity for pleasure? For pain? For _power_ beyond your wildest imaginings?"

"I was a punk, I have pretty wild imaginings," Dervish demurs, and takes another slight step back. Almost as if for _safety_ , as amusingly stupid as such an idea is, "and no, none of those. In fact, I rather hoped to test _you_."

"You wish to test a demon master, a lord of magic who has killed untold billions in his time?" He questions, just to see Dervish's face pale the slightest bit at his achievements. Drifts forward a little, absently, allowing his arms to trail out behind him in the most horrifying of manners, "you are a brave man, Dervish Grady, but even you must see the sheer-"

He starts to slow, every tiny movement becoming an infinitesimal bit harder.

"-Stupidity of such-

Until...

"-An action?"

He can go no further, is stuck as if in quicksand. Arms twitching helplessly, barrier invisible but undeniable between him and the now actively grinning face of Dervish Grady.

 _Well_.

"You were saying?" Dervish asks brightly, pleasure making him cocky, but soon returns to his usual determined manner when he narrows his eyes in a question, "I live back there, and that house and the entire town surrounding it are now under my protection."

"That old barn, become a sanctuary," he says, musingly, and raises one hand. Watches, slightly disbelieving, as it thunks against the barrier without penetrating and slides steadily down, "did Beranabus have a hand in this, by any chance? Sneaking out of the night to bind yet another minion into slavery?"

"You can talk," Dervish snaps, looking briefly guilty, but soon shakes himself back to some semblance of calm yet again, "and perhaps. Does it really matter?"

"I am just wondering why he's so interested in this place," he replies innocently, slightly sated by the reaction. Glances around the treeline, to get some further clue as to where he knows it from... Ah, of course, "Carcery Vale, isn't it? Maybe you should wonder too."

Dervish stares at him for a second, face calm but eyes just the slightest bit wild...

But the face wins in the end. He shrugs a little, gives one final grin and then turns on his heel. Dismissing him, like he's some meaningless crony as opposed to the curse of the Grady family for generations, "maybe I am, and maybe it doesn't matter. I know what I wanted to know, the test has succeeded. Don't let the door crush you on the way out, _Loss_."

He remains by the barrier between him and the house of Dervish and the town of Carcery Vale and the grave of Bec for a long few minutes, the slightest smile lingering upon his face.

**20 Years Since**

He may not be able to drift his way into Carcery Vale like the lord he is, but that in no way means that the entire area is cut off from him. He plans, he plots, he turns the problem repeatedly over in his mind like he would with a chess piece. And, eventually, he comes to a most satisfying solution on all levels.

Demons are not the best detectives, but they have their uses. He subtly sends them scuttling out in all directions, seeking information throughout the demon universe. They do not bring back much, but what they do bring is interesting enough. Carcery Vale is a nothing town with very few delicious humans to toy with, but has still been frustratingly removed from the purview of all demons. The human side of the tunnel between universes remains frustratingly dormant as a result, the grave of a millennia dead girl and nothing more.

The demon side of the tunnel is surprisingly active despite this, Spine reports with his tail waving anxiously, but that’s a problem for another day.

Vein is a slightly more advanced demon than the others, and so is more useful as a result. She cannot actually enter the town itself, and her growing snappiness remains a problem, but a few soft words to well placed allies leads to her gaining the freedom of the hills around it. She compares her current impressions with her memories of over a thousand years ago, and reports back the differences. A lot of the forest has been replaced by arable land, by boring little farmers herding brainless sheep or treating dull crops.

He can understand why Beranabus was worried. The last time his kind were hindered, at least a little, by inhospitable terrain. This time they would have a free run, spreading across the land like a plague.

His most useful tool by far, however, is Juni Swan. She is fully human, as much as she may grumble about it sometimes, and so entirely free to wander through Carcery Vale. She is also smart, and loyal, and so competent next to the rest of his minions that he regularly curses Beranabus as a fool for ever letting her go. She takes to her job with relish, if some little confusion, carefully makes sure to discover every bit of Carcery Vale. The old school in the centre of town, the little rows of shops still somehow managing to resist the sway of greater outside forces, the utterly average people sometimes making decisions even stupider than those of the sheep.

The most fascinating discovery she makes is that of a young boy, with the looks of another line but the overwhelming smell of a Grady. He has the sense that the child is going to be important, files the knowledge carefully away in his mind for later.

Far later, at least in human terms, for now he has bigger things to focus upon. Juni is giving her latest report with admirable efficiency, hands folded behind her back. She has long left behind the stiffness she displayed when she first joined them, but she still displays an entirely admirable and slightly desperate work ethic “...And the prices in Carcery Vale are a little higher than the national average, which really can’t be doing the businesses involved any good.”

“A fascinating point,” he says wryly, hovering in front of the wall where he’s consolidated his battle plan – a spreading web of strings entirely beautiful to behold, “but not one that I’m sure is entirely relevant to our ultimate goals.”

Juni hesitates for a second, words obviously teetering on the edge of her tongue. She is more confident now, but such an event still happens worryingly often.

“You may speak, Ms Swan.”

“Sor- my apologies, it’s hard to forget how Beranabus would threaten to cut out my tongue if I raised even a single doubt,” Juni chuckles a little, not quite succeeding in sounding careless, hurries on before he can do more than narrow his eyes at this latest evidence of Beranabus’ idiocy, “to tell the truth, Master, I’m not sure how Carcery Vale is relevant to our ultimate goals.”

He watches her for a moment, closely. Decides to allow her to move on from the subject of Beranabus, when she displays no outward sign of distress, “are you not?”

“It’s a tiny hamlet, in the middle of nowhere,” Juni argues, warming to her theme in a way that is frankly endearing, “there’s no strategic value, there are very few people and out of those very few people only one or two of them look capable of playing chess to anywhere near your level. I do not mean to question you or your plans, master, but...”

“Carcery Vale is situated only a few minutes from an inactive tunnel between the universes, which is worth keeping an eye on,” he explains, amused at her level of tact. It was well done, playing to his fascination with chess. He’ll have to work out some way to reward her, “it is also locked off from the vast majority of demons, which is maddening. It was locked off by Beranabus, which is even more so. And also... Dervish Grady lives there, which is fascinating to the extreme.”

“Dervish,” Juni muses softly, her shoulders undeniably tense at the very mention of Beranabus, “I remember Dervish.”

“You may continue to speak freely, Juni,” he chuckles, when she visibly hesitates yet again, “I rather enjoy your tongue and the new perspectives that it brings, I am unlikely to cut it out at any point soon.”

“How kind of you, Master,” Juni smirks wryly, but obeys his order. Carries on, with only the slightest brave lifting of her chin, “I also don’t know why Dervish Grady is relevant. He was charming enough, I suppose, and definitely has the Grady blood that you so love running through his veins. But in the end he’s just a man, and one who puts in slightly too much effort at that. I would’ve thought that you’d focus on more interesting prospects, such as...”

“Cornelius Fleck, for instance?” He asks innocently, and is impressed when Juni manages to retain her poker face even in light of such deliberate provocation, “try not to worry, Ms Swan, I have multiple eggs in multiple baskets and am not inclined to let any of them drop.”

“Good,” Juni says, exceptionally careful, “I suppose.”

“And besides, Dervish Grady _is_ relevant. Is as fascinating to me as you are, in a way, with all his morals and dreams and sheer impudence like he’s going to win the day,” he smiles a little at her, is gratified when she slowly – after a long pause of hesitation – starts to smile back, “and one day, just maybe, I’ll convince you to appreciate him too. Like a fine wine, lingering upon the tongue.”

 

\--

 

The next time he sees Dervish he’s immediately amused, because the next time he sees Dervish the man does _not_ immediately see him. 

They’re in a basement, a small and windowless room with several heavy looking wooden tables scattered around and a cage that would be disconcerting to literally any other creature in the universe. He admires it for a second, settles down beside it as he waits for Dervish to gain awareness. It shouldn’t take too long, the man looks to be _easily_ winning the desperate scramble he’s engaged in with an unknown assailant upon the floor.

There are a few sharp movements, a few desperate wriggles that are more amusing than anything else. Human fighting is generally so ugly, so absolutely lacking in grace or anything close to poise. He’s still marvelling over it, when Dervish gives a few sharp movements and jerks the man’s head sharply to the side.

...Well, maybe the human way _does_ have its charms. He licks his lips, can’t quite help himself.

Dervish remains in a pile on the floor for a moment, weary and the slightest bit deliciously disgusted, then slowly rises up to his feet. He notes, with amusement, the changes the past five or so years have wrought on the man. His hair has actually started to recede across his head, and what little remains has faded to a most fetching shade of grey. He looks a little more tired, a little more battle worn. He has apparently accepted all over denim as a religion.

The man staggers a little, groans, starts to slowly make his way towards the staircase. And he could let him leave, he could appreciate the slow aging of Dervish Grady in proper detail... But time is ticking, and even he cannot keep the portal of a dead man open for long. He clears his throat instead, soft and polite and just the slightest bit annoying.

And Dervish comes to a frozen halt, slowly turns to stare at him with eyes wide and fixed, “ _you_.”

“The one and only, my dear Mr Grady,” he croons, and makes sure to show all of his teeth. A gesture worth it for the entirely amusing blanching of Dervish’s face alone, “guessing by your sudden expression of shock, I can safely assume you were not the one who summoned me on this occasion?”

“No,” Dervish says, slow and hesitant. He rather resembles a deer caught in the headlights, he wasn’t aware that Dervish could make that expression but now he wants to make sure that it remains fixed upon his face for the rest of his – possibly relatively short, at least by demon standards – lifetime, “somebody broke in, in search of demon memorabilia. I didn’t think that he had the power to actually do anything, but... Apparently that was a step too far.”

“The man possesses hidden strengths,” he agrees, amiably enough. Allows his slight smile to widen even further at Dervish’s expression of borderline despair, “ _possessed_ hidden strengths, I should say. Would it help if I categorically told you that he was the last person near Carcery Vale capable of doing such a thing, besides you?”

“Less than you’d think it would,” Dervish says a touch cagily. Draws in a deep breath, and straightens his shoulders like a man about to face a firing squad “...Are you going to kill me now?”

“And ruin all of Beranabus’ carefully laid plans?” he asks, the very soul of innocence. Deliberately wrinkles up his face in mock thought, as Dervish continues to perfect his firing squad pose, “when I put it like that, I must admit that the idea has some appeal. But no. I am not going to let my antipathy towards Beranabus affect our relationship, Dervish.”

“Our-?” Dervish scowls, helplessly, but actually relaxes an infinitesimal bit. Like he actually trusts the word of a demon master, an action either foolish or incredibly wise, “why?”

He arches one hairless brow, amused by the question.

“I mean, not that I mind as such...” Dervish says quickly, apparently possessed of just enough self preservation instinct to make the sensible decision, “but I’ve always been taught that you never take the kind option, that you always have another plot waiting in the wings. So I have to wonder: what price will I have to pay, for you letting me live?”

“Smart boy,” he chuckles, pushes off the spot where he was waiting and drifts up to examine the rest of the room, “but I would not be a very good master if I told you everything immediately, would I? You shall just have to wait, and see.”

“I’ve never liked doing that,” Dervish protests, low and faintly sullen.

“Now may well be the time to resign yourself to it,” he suggests, bright and cheerful, and comes to a hovering halt before Dervish can do more than huff angrily in response, “I cannot help but notice the rather large cage in this room. How, by Balor’s eye as Beranabus would most colourfully huff, did you fit it in?”

“Flat Pack is a gift from the gods,” Dervish grumbles, reluctantly deciding to set aside his bubbling rage for now, “I ordered it from a specialist site, and then Shark and a few other friends helped me to assemble it. They know my family history, what I face every day. There were no complaints.”

“Interesting,” he purrs, remembering Shark. The man was perhaps the least interesting of the gathered masses who came to see him on that fateful day, but he still possessed a certain charm with his tattooed knuckles and unwise boldness, “did they also bring you such fascinating volumes, detailing the various effects of your family’s condition?”

“They help out, sometimes,” Dervish gives, still so wary and annoyed and so many other things. It forms a delicious cocktail of emotion, one that he can barely resist slurping down his throat, “but a lot of it is stuff that I’ve found, and managed to gather here. It’s the closest thing to a job I have, I suppose. Finding antiques, trading antiques, buying antiques. It’s a fiddly job, but I have the time for it.”

“Not to mention the money,” he comments blithely, unable to resist the urge to rub Dervish’s family gained fortune in his face yet again, “given that, I suppose you also buy the wine for yourself?”

“The... Wine?”

“Fermented grape juice, capable of producing quite an effect on humans,” he nods towards the bottle he’s spotted sitting on one of the heavy tables, looking pristine compared to the rest of the room, “that is a bottle of the Beringer Cabernet Sauvignon Napa Valley Private Reserve from 1986, yes?”

Dervish stares at him for a long second, wide eyed and gawping, “you know wine?”

“Echoing fruit and oak. With flavours of herb, mint, cherry and plum,” he purrs thoughtfully, favours Dervish with only a slightly sinister smile. The sharpness of his teeth lurking around the very edges, “I have some small knowledge of wine, I must admit. Some of my... Acquaintances have been most obliging of my curiosity.”

Dervish stares at him for a long few moments, still wide eyed and slightly gawping. But now with such fascination in his gaze that it’s hard not to clap his hands together in glee, “suddenly we have a lot more to talk about.”

**25 Years Since**

He supposes that not all good things can last forever. It has been at least thirty human years since the other masters paid any attention to him, a little less in demon time. And as much as he wishes that could continue forever, that this period of being alone and untroubled could stretch for the rest of his existence...

No universe is that kind, alas.

Countess Cartoid resembles what the humans would call a leech, a green and bulbous creature who seems content to make every single space a little more hideous with her presence. Her good friend Prince Pericite, apparently since the long ago days of the very first universe, more resembles a crab with as many scabs as he has pincers. They both stand in the centre of his throne room arrogantly, regarding the fine architecture - the stretching webs and the carefully curated collection of curiosities - like they own them.

"To whom do I owe this pleasure?" He asks, a little stiff despite himself. He cannot quite help it, it is hard to summon anything other than stiffness when he has two such visitors.

" _We have not seen you for years, Loss,_ ," Cartoid - he assumes he can get away with not using her title in his own head - clucks in a faintly obscure dialect, of course unwilling to sully her ever so fair lips with any human tongue, " _can you blame us for wanting to check in on an old friend_?"

"I was not aware that you regarded me as a friend," he answers slowly, using at least one human tongue himself for as long as he is able, "I never asked for such an honour, although-"

 _She was being sarcastic, Loss_ , Pericite does not even lower himself to moving his mouth. Speaks in the old demon way instead, a blast of pure power against his mind that he barely stops himself from flinching at, _creatures like us would never be friends with a creature like you. Such an association would be so far beneath us as to be hilarious._

He hesitates for a second, hardly disappointed but still rankling under the casual disdain.

" _Oh, Pericite, how cruel!_ " Cartoid coos, not sounding all that sorry at all. There is something close to delight, in her one pink eye, " _you have offended our host with your far too honest words!_ "

"I make it a policy to not be offended by the truth," he interrupts tersely, knowing that the only way out - as ever, as he wishes that more humans would accept for just one shining moment - is through, "it would be hypocritical, at best. Why are you _here_?"

 _To see your ever so overblown palace,_ Pericite informs him, mental voice so scornful that it is only long experience that stops his mind from bubbling away under the very force of it, _to check on how you mismanage your minions. And most importantly of all, to learn if several rather disturbing rumours we have heard are true._

"You shall have to be more specific," he sniffs, a cold feeling of dread starting to bunch in his gut.

_Do not demand things of us!_

" _Pericite_!" Cartoid croons again, still sounding more amused than chiding as he barely stops himself from shrinking under his fellow master's rage, " _we've heard that you've been getting too close to the humans again, Loss. That you've been toying with them, coddling them, even taking their filthy disgusting shape and walking among them_."

He hesitates for a second, trying not to feel terrified and failing absolutely.

" _Do you deny it_?"

"I-"

Cartoid exchanges a brief and slightly amused look with Pericite, and that's all the warning he gets. In the next moment he's being yanked from his throne with magic, tugged across the room and pressed so hard against a webbed wall that it actually buckles underneath his weight.

" _Do you deny it_?" Cartoid repeats, a softly sinister tone entering her voice.

The power is incredible, yet another reminder of how low in status he truly is. On earth he is a Lord, a terrifying ruler who can decide the difference between life and death for literally millions. But everywhere else... He writhes uncomfortably where he's pinned, cowed under the reminder of just how low he is.

_Loss!_

" _I do not deny that I toy with the humans,_ " He snaps, quickly slipping into his own dialect to save his skin. For if survival is all that he can do, he's damn well going to do it well, " _that would be foolish, as all know of my fondness for playing with them. But... Neither of the other charges are entirely true._ "

" _You deny that you coddle them?_ " Cartoid asks, pressing a little closer with a gleeful expression painted clearly across her bulging features, " _You deny that you take their shape, and parade around like you are something you will never be? _"__

__" _I-_ "_ _

___And you deny that you have affection for them?_ Pericite backs her up, also shifts closer with his many pincers rustling menacingly, _that if worst came to worse, you would choose them even over your own kind?__ _

__He hesitates for a long second, briefly caught by his long ago vow to tell the truth "... _I know where my allegiances lie, your Royal Highness._ "_ _

__They stare at him from up close for a long few seconds, and the breath remains frozen in his lungs._ _

___You better, Loss_ , but it is just about enough. Pericite sneers again, releases the grip of magic around his limbs. They both stare scornfully at him as he slumps helplessly to the ground, glance even more scornfully around the room he has spent his life building as he desperately tries to struggle back up into the air, _your palace is absurdly built, I would tear it all down and burn the ruins to ashes if I could.__ _

__" _Later_ ," Cartoid soothes him, and turns her one pink eye in his direction. Sneers horribly, like she can see right down into his soul, " _We'll be watching you, Loss. Do try to be less pathetic in the future, if you can_."_ _

__And they leave him there. Still on the floor, still desperately trying to scramble up to some form of dignity._ _

__

__\--_ _

__

__"I'm not summoning you to ask for your help with causing various types of mayhem, _or_ to admit that I secretly want to become your minion and aid in your doubtlessly fiendish and terrible plans," Dervish says quickly the moment he comes through the portal, almost like he actually pre-prepared his morally superior spiel this time, "I'm summoning you because I have a lycanthropy related question to ask you, and considering how surprisingly interesting our discussion over wine last time was I thought- what the hell happened to _you_?"_ _

__His bones still ache from the treatment of Cartoid and Pericite. There's a low buzzing in his head, and an unfamiliar kind of misery dug deep into his soul. He makes a face when Dervish notices the obvious nature of it, drifts across until he can settle gingeringly into the most comfortable looking chair in the room, "thank you, Dervish, may I say that you also look like you smell of roses?"_ _

__Dervish looks, just briefly, inclined to give himself a sniff. Luckily resists the urge, because he would _so_ like to retain some respect for the man, and settles for tilting his head instead, "are- are you alright?"_ _

__"Tell me, Dervish," he smiles a probably ghoulish smile, secure in the knowledge that he can scare at least _one_ creature in the universe if he puts his mind to it, "do you really care?"_ _

__"I-" Dervish bites his lip for a moment, eyes gone wide like he's honestly not quite sure how to answer that question. It would be almost _sweet_ , if that ache still didn't linger so very deep in his bones, "you look injured, can you blame me for being interested? What happened, were you slammed into a wall or something?"_ _

__"A most startling insight," he scowls, shock and awe at such an accurate guess somewhat beyond him at present moment, "for a human."_ _

__"I was a punk, I've been thrown into a fair few walls in my time," Dervish smirks smugly, looks slightly haunted for a moment - he guesses at the realization of his own fleeting morality - and carries on with a new sense of purpose the second afterwards, "but... Who could actually do that?"_ _

__"Since my life is apparently a game to you, just as yours is to me, I would invite you to _guess_."_ _

__Dervish glares at him for a moment, but it seems a token effort more than anything. The man obviously fancies himself a Sherlock Holmes type, his eyes glow helplessly with the light of discovery, "has Beranabus visited you again?"_ _

__He actually manages a chuckle at that, shakes his head in amusement at the thought of Beranabus even _daring_ , "the man, for all his faults, knows far better than that."_ _

__"...I see," the light of discovery fades a little, to something softer and more perturbed, but soon manages to bounce back to full strength. Humanity is surprisingly resilient, upon occasion, though he has no doubts that Cartoid and Pericite would laugh themselves sick at the very thought, "your minions, then?"_ _

__He arches a brow, willing to take this distraction while it lasts, "what about my _familiars_?"_ _

__"Have they done the sensible thing, and finally turned against you?"_ _

__He throws back his head, and actually laughs at _that_. It is not a pleasant sound, he has deliberately curated it to be the opposite of such, but it lifts the darkness in his soul nonetheless, "very good, the most amusing joke that I've heard in hundreds of years - but even my familiars have far too many brains to attempt anything as deeply foolish as _that_."_ _

__"Then..." Judging by Dervish's face, he doesn't appreciate the change. There's honest worry in his eyes, the delicious salt of fear starting to drift through the air. It's a pity, in a way, but he's hardly going to _refuse_ such a boon freely given, "I'm steadily running out of options here, I have to admit."_ _

__"What is that quote?" He murmurs, somewhat restored to his old levels of cheer, "There are more things in heaven and earth, Dervish Grady, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."_ _

__"Somehow I doubt that Shakespeare mentioned me by name," Dervish mutters, luckily doesn't look like he expects applause for his keen quote placing, "is that meant to terrify me beyond all reason, or just to rattle me a little?"_ _

__" _Dervish_ ," he tuts admonishingly, narrowly resisting the urge to point out that Dervish is already rattled a little. This is such a soothing conversation, he's not going to be the one to force it to go sour, "I thought that you knew me by now, _everything_ I do is meant to terrify you beyond all reason."_ _

__Dervish stares at him for a long second, eyes gone flat and poker face surprisingly in place given the situation._ _

__"It is in my nature," he says, as innocently as possible._ _

__"Trust me," Dervish says wearily, the briefest flare of disappointment felt quickly covered up like it never even existed, "I know your nature _extremely_ well by now. It's kinda the family business."_ _

__He smiles a little, refreshed and delighted by the proclamation. A symbiotic relationship confirmed, in a few beautifully snarled words. Most of the universe looks down upon such a thing but he has always found it strangely... _Beautiful_._ _

__"So," and, he flatters himself, so does Dervish sometimes. When he's not caught up in his own head, when the curse of his family isn't drumming on his brain like a steadily ticking clock or a neverending drip of water, "to sum up: something slammed you against the wall, which implies that there may well be more dangerous creatures than you in the universe. Correct?"_ _

__"I couldn't have put it better myself," he purrs, finally feeling refreshed enough to drift up from his seat and spread out his arms again._ _

__"...And does this stop you from discussing lycanthropy with me at great length?"_ _

__A symbiotic relationship, he cannot help but continue to find it charming... Even as Dervish keeps regarding him closely, a new wariness freshly in his eye._ _

__**30 Years Since** _ _

__Gretelda Grady is ready to turn._ _

__He has not paid much attention to the family of Dervish Grady's brother over the years, beyond the casual eye he keeps on all those with the old MacGrigor blood in them, but one quick glance is enough to know. It is within her, it is starting, it will soon bubble to the surface in a way that simply cannot be denied._ _

__She looks normal now, of course. Long red hair, freckles, the slightly gormless expression of someone who truly believes that they are destined for _greater_ than the average everyday human life. He has seen such a look on the faces of many teenagers, they tend to either grow out of it embarrassingly quickly... Or not grow at all, halt before they ever have the chance to develop._ _

__He would lay a very accurate bet on which option lies in poor Gretelda's future._ _

__Soon the moon will rise, majestic and pale and quietly powerful in a way that few humans are capable of comprehending, and she'll begin to _alter_. It'll be slow at first, steady like the tortoise in that charming story some have told him just before their final breaths. She'll have sinister dreams of blood and running, wake up with her fingers clenched into claws and will be shaking the cramps out for days after._ _

__But soon..._ _

__It will progress, inevitable and relentless. The dreams will expand, grow more and more detailed and seep further and further into previously ordinary life. She'll end up slipping out of the house at night, will wake up with fingers clenched into claws and blood splattered hopelessly over her delicate knuckles._ _

__Soon..._ _

__It will keep progressing, further and further like the turning of planets or the inevitable progression of life towards death. The dreams will become reality in the blink of an eye, violent and absolute. Night dreaming will progress to daydreaming, and then no type of dreaming at all. She won't need to slip out of the house, she won't _ever_ wake up to marvel over her formerly pretty knuckles because she won't be able to remember the time when they weren't covered in fur._ _

___Soon_ -_ _

__...Well._ _

__Gretelda Grady will be no more, and Gretelda Grady's immediate family may well be no more alongside her. It has happened before, it will inevitably happen again. It is routine, for one such as him who has lived so very long, average in a way that is boring at best. It _should_ be no more interesting to him than the dark sky above, or the webs that make up his throne._ _

__Should, being the key word._ _

__Because _soon_ Gretelda Grady shall succumb to the curse of her genes, and _soon_ her family may well fall with her... But he can't quite shake the sense that this is different somehow, potent in a way that such a routine interaction has never been before. He sits on his webbed throne as usual, arms twitching in a casual nest around him, and sees the future of girl turning into beast as usual. But he also senses something else, something potent and terrifying and rustling on the wind in a manner even more sinister than the inevitable dreams._ _

__He knows how this is going to go, from his end. Dervish Grady's brother - Callum? A disappointingly ordinary name, next to the amusing pretension of _Dervish_ \- will not call the sadly pathetic group called the Lambs. He will refuse to allow his daughter to be slaughtered like a common pig, or experimented on like a monkey, or any of the equally horrifying stages in between. He will convince himself that he has some small skill at chess, that his wife has enough bravery to last, that his normal life can resume with only a brief pause. He will challenge him, he will fight. He will _die_ , with either his chin held high or his eyes filled with helpless tears._ _

__It will be ordinary._ _

__...It may be ordinary._ _

__He can honestly, with all the experience gathered from years of reigning over the realm of ordinarily desperate mortals bargaining their ordinarily boring lines, not believe that it will be such. That certain feeling remains on the wind, that certain whisper of change that he felt drift into his consciousness before he met Kernel Fleck and Bec before him. And the universe did not entirely flip on its head either time, no, but-_ _

__Well._ _

__He sighs, from his haughty seat upon his throne, and folds his arms in on himself. Pushes up, and goes to find the disobedient Vein or the still mournful Artery or the quietly loyal Juni Swan. He needs a distraction, from the change coming on as surely as a demon's rage, and he's starting to think that he can no longer find it here._ _

__

__\--_ _

__

__"I summoned you here because-"_ _

__"I know why you summoned me here, Dervish," so much for a distraction. He sighs, low and only _faintly_ put upon. Rises up out of the portal to his full and majestic - and so wonderfully terrifying - height, "what age are your niece and nephew again?"_ _

__Dervish freezes for a long second, jaw briefly unhinging in a way that can't help but bring a smile to his face. Maybe this visit will have some value after all. Even in the depths of his own despair, Dervish Grady is an entirely enchanting creature in so many wonderfully interesting ways._ _

__"That is not an answer," he purrs, playfulness coming to him easier than he thought it would._ _

__"I-" Dervish visibly gulps, closes his mouth with a snap and seems to think for a moment. An odd thing, for a human, and probably to be encouraged. As much as he loves their chaotic natures, a lot of them really _would_ survive for at least a little longer if they bothered to put the slightest bit of thought in, "their exact ages are none of your business, but... They're both in their early teens now, yes."_ _

__"And so both at risk," he offers a smirk, sure that it comes out more like a ghastly grimace. The most helpful he can be, at this most joyous and confusing of times, "Gretelda and Grubbitsch, isn't it? Or do they prefer nicknames by now?"_ _

__"Why would you need to know?"_ _

__"Oh, _Dervish_ ," he tuts a little, enjoys how every little sound makes Dervish tense all the more. They may be as close to friendly terms as he ever gets, but that still doesn't mean that he won't enjoy twisting the knife as much as he can, "surely you can appreciate the likelihood of me meeting one or both of them, at this juncture?"_ _

__"And _if_ you do meet them, you're just going to ignore their wishes and call them by their full names anyway," Dervish snaps, lifting his head to actually fix him with a glare, "don't pretend like you're actually interested, my _lord_ , you're less good at it than you think."_ _

__He stares for a second, stunned._ _

__...And perhaps this is another twist in the wind, another change that is inevitable no matter how much he struggles against it. He hesitates for a second more, and then drifts a little forward in as close to an appeal as he's ever going to get, "you called me Loss, the last few times we met."_ _

__"And you told me not to," Dervish steps back a little, still with that old fear in him, but keeps glaring. He thought some form of amiability existed between them, but there's no sign of that now in the man's open fury, "I thought it best to take your advice, before you decided - one day, on a whim - to use it as a pretext to rip my head off."_ _

__He tilts his head a little, amazed at how humans - when unstoppered - seem actively unable of holding themselves back the slightest bit "...Perhaps you are starting to know me after all."_ _

__"Perhaps," Dervish huffs a little, shakes his head. He looks a step away from swearing like a sailor, but restrains himself at the last second, "and if I do know you, then I know that _everything_ you say is just a pretence. Every question you ask, every concern you croon. You don't actually care, it's like Beranabus said-"_ _

__He frowns, helplessly._ _

__"-You're _incapable_ of it."_ _

__"Beranabus is not the only authority on demons," he murmurs, knowing that he's fully capable of ripping Dervish's head off for such an insult... But not quite feeling inclined. Their acquaintance has been strange and confusing in many ways, this continuation of it makes at least some sort of sense, "and why, may I ask, did you summon me here if you already knew how it would go?"_ _

__"I told you, I wanted to confirm-"_ _

__"A truth that you already _knew_ ," he sniffs, watches Dervish's eyes narrow in an involuntary confirmation. Human faces, so very expressive in an unexpected variety of ways, "you are not a fool, Dervish Grady, you already knew exactly what I would tell you from the moment you decided to summon me. There must be other reasons, reasons like you _wanting_ the pretence as much as you deny it."_ _

__Dervish remains silent for a long few moments, lips pursed and expression caught "...It's not that."_ _

__"Isn't it?" He challenges, "then what-?"_ _

__"I came up with the strange plan, the _mad_ plan, to ask you what you were going to do about it," Dervish says softly, closes his eyes briefly as if struggling with the words, "but a brief conversation, and I already know the answer to that. You already know what you're going to do. You already know your side, you already know what you'll _choose_ when it comes down to it. It's in your nature."_ _

__He hesitates for a second, arms half folded into a weak little pattern by his sides and mind whirring despite itself._ _

__"Only a fool would think otherwise," Dervish opens his eyes, fixes him with a burning glance that would turn any mortal into cinders to blow away on the wind, "and you said it yourself, I'm many things but I'm not quite that."_ _

__He opens his mouth, wanting to retort in a thousand ways. Wanting to tell Dervish that these interactions have meant something to him, that the game has grown a little more serious than he ever would've believed at the start. Wanting to yell at him, to castigate him brutally for believing that all demons are the same. Wanting to confide in him that the lines aren't quite as firmly drawn as he thinks they are, that when push comes to shove-_ _

__...But, well. He barely knows what's going to happen then himself._ _

__"That is yet to be decided," he draws himself back up to his full height, _reminds_ himself that he's a demon master and drifts slowly and majestically back towards the window, "until next time, Dervish Grady. And if you talk to me like that again, upon that occasion, I will be _happy_ to rip your tongue out for your daring."_ _


End file.
